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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28300506">to be and to seem</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphictomaz/pseuds/sapphictomaz'>sapphictomaz</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Minor Angst, Miscommunication, Strangers to Lovers, it's a holiday fluff piece what more is there to say</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 01:20:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,163</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28300506</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphictomaz/pseuds/sapphictomaz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Murphy finds himself in need of holiday plans to appease his overbearing best friend, whereas Bellamy finds himself in need of a fake boyfriend to appease his overbearing family. It seems like it's going to work perfectly - until it doesn't.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bellamy Blake/John Murphy, Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Octavia Blake/Niylah (minor)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>to be and to seem</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueparacosm/gifts">blueparacosm</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/oogaboogu/gifts">oogaboogu</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this fic is a christmas present to my very best friends, blueparacosm and oogaboogu. i hope you both enjoy this. know that i appreciate you both endlessly for all that you do, and i am so, so grateful to be your friend. much love from me, and merry christmas &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <em>December 11th -</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy’s in the middle of drinking the worst cup of hot chocolate he’s ever had when his entire world comes crashing to the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke asked me to go home with her for the holidays,” Lexa says, as if it’s easy; as if her words aren’t completely shattering the tenuous facade he maintains throughout the wintery season. He nearly chokes on his hot chocolate, coughing slightly as he sets the cup back down on the table of the coffee shop, doing his best to ignore the genuine sympathy that lights up her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’re going to go,” he finishes for her once he’s managed to slip his expression back to one of neutrality. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lexa bites her lip, conflicted. When it came to their friendship, she’s never tried to hide any part of how she’s feeling from him, and while he appreciates it, it’s not enough to stop his chest from feeling tight. “I haven’t told her yes or no yet,” she admits. “So - I don’t have to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you should say yes,” Murphy replies, and for a moment he’s surprised at how quickly he’s sending away his only friend and company for the holidays, but his genuine care for his best friend outweighs any of his own loneliness. Clarke’s the first girl that Lexa had dated since she’d had her heart broken by her previous girlfriend, and the two of them seem perfectly matched in every single way. It would have been worse, he knows, if they </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>spend the holiday season together - but he’s not about to admit that out loud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?” she asks, tapping the side of her coffee cup with her fingers. “I don’t want to leave you on your own, but...well, I really like her, Murphy, and I want this to work, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods, doing what he can to show that he understands and wants her to be happy without having to say it. By now, after being friends with him for over a decade, he’s pretty sure that Lexa gets it. “Yeah, it’s fine. Don’t worry about me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lexa smiles, and then she leans back in her chair, all vulnerability dropped. Now that she’s posed the hard question and gotten the answer she wanted, she too can adopt her usual facade of not caring what anybody thought of her. “Alright, cool,” she says. “Maybe you can use this time to actually go and talk to a guy and then, you know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>date him</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy scowls at her, looking down at the table that suddenly seems far more interesting. “I’m just fine on my own.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, please,” she says, sighing, though her words are tinged with genuine care. “You know I love you, Murphy, but we’ve spent every single Christmas together since we were kids. You’ve never had a serious boyfriend and even though you say that you’re fine, I think you want one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, you think I want someone I need to report to at all hours of the day, and buy countless presents for, and tell all my deepest darkest secrets to? Really, you think that’s what I want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So - maybe she has a point, but no part of his pride is ready to concede. “I told you,” he mutters, “I’m just fine. Go have a happy Christmas with your girlfriend and her family. If Clarke is any indication of the rest of them, I’m sure they’re all lovely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just think you’re limiting yourself,” she says. Above them, the coffee shop stereo starts to play yet another version of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Carol of the Bells, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he has to fight the urge to groan. It’s not that he hates the holiday season, per say, it’s just that he’s never really had a reason to celebrate it. Everyone he knows becomes overly cheerful for the entire month of December, as if the snow will solve all their problems and not simply force them to shovel their driveways - but it’s always been fine. He could cope with it, because Lexa was often on her own, too, and they’d spend the actual day holed up inside of one of their houses and then when they got older, in the apartment they shared, and they’d do nothing but watch movies and laugh and pretend the world didn’t exist for just a little while. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m busy,” Murphy says, and this isn’t technically a lie. He works six days of the week at this very coffee shop, rousing himself at the ungodly hour of five a.m. so that he could bake all the shop’s pastries and desserts for the day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lexa glares at him, shaking her head. “You work a minimum wage job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m saving for-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, to open your own bakery, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>get </span>
  </em>
  <span>it,” she says, cutting him off in a way that he’d only allow her to do, “but at some point you just have to do it, you know? You’re not happy here, and you know it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy sighs, suddenly wishing that he could be anywhere else than there. He did love Lexa, more than anyone, but sometimes he wished that she didn’t know him </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>well. “I’m barely in my twenties,” he says, a little harsher than he intends, but the thought of spending the entire Christmas season alone or at work is starting to get to him. “There’s time. You work at an art gallery, so I’m not sure you have room to talk here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The art gallery was, in fact, where she’d met Clarke the painter. Just the mention of it is enough to put a small smile on Lexa’s face, one that he catches even if she doesn’t think he does. “Yes, because that’s my dream job,” she says, and then she gestures around the coffee shop that is, if he’s honest, completely bland to look at. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>This </span>
  </em>
  <span>is not your dream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, some of us don’t get to have our dreams, Lexa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She scoffs, somehow leaning back even further and crossing her arms. “Alright, who pissed you off today?” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Have you forgotten you’re abandoning me for Christmas? </span>
  </em>
  <span>he wants to say, but the words die before they’ve left his throat, simply because he doesn’t really mean them. Instead, he picks up his cup of hot chocolate, swirling it slightly. “This is the worst one I’ve ever had from here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think every drink that you personally don’t make is bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, first of all, I’m a baker, not a barista, so get that right,” he says, “and secondly, yes, exactly.” His least favourite part of the job was the last couple hours of each of his shifts, where he’d be forced out of the kitchen and behind the front counter to help out. Making coffee was not something he wanted to learn, but he’d gotten pretty good at it in all his time here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lexa laughs, but then her eyes soften. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay on your own, Murphy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure,” he says quietly, but it’s too quick a response, and they both know it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a moment of silence where Lexa does nothing but study him with a newfound seriousness. He’s about to interrupt her thoughts to stop whatever scheme she’s concocting when she finally speaks. “That’s it - if you don’t make plans for the holiday, I will find a way to </span>
  <em>
    <span>get </span>
  </em>
  <span>you plans.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I - what? Lexa, please-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, it’s happening,” she says, nodding and pulling out her phone to scroll through her contacts. “Ah! Here. How about Jasper? You know, from university?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t spoken to him in-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, fine, then Gabriel, maybe? I think he thought you were cute.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I barely </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>the guy-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lexa huffs, growing irritated. “Fine, then there’s this client I have at the gallery, he’s definitely your type.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is happening here?” he manages to say, his first complete sentence since she started throwing names at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinks, as if surprised that he’s not completely on board. “I’m finding you a date for the holidays,” she says, gesturing to her phone that’s full to the brim with contacts. It’s a wonder that they’d been friends for so long - Lexa loved having connections with anybody and everybody, whereas Murphy very much preferred not to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want a date for the holidays,” he argues, looking at her incredulously. “I want you to go and have a great time with your girlfriend and leave me </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lexa pauses, as if considering, but then she shakes her head. “No - this is happening, Murphy. I’m going to find you a date. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>have a great time with Clarke, and you’re going to have real plans as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, it’s exciting! And look, if it ends up going horribly, then you’ll have a great story and we can laugh about it when I get back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I’m not doing it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s clear, however, she has no intention of stopping, and he’s beginning to suspect that if he does say no, she’ll send several men to his doorstep, anyways. “Just - you can pick who it is, then, and I’ll do my best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy pinches the bridge of his nose in clear frustration, settling with the knowledge that once Lexa gets started on something, there’s nothing that can convince her to give it up. “If I make plans for the holidays,” he says, slowly, “will that get you to stop this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” she says, smiling brightly at this notion. “But you have to actually make plans, okay? It’ll be good for you. Really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He does know that she’s doing this out of genuine kindness and concern for his well being, but he wants nothing more than to race out of this coffee shop and never think about this again. And maybe, well - maybe a part of him thinks it </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>be nice not to spend Christmas alone in front of his laptop all day. “Fine,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I will make plans for the holiday. Are you happy now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nods, satisfied with the outcome. “You have to make them by the sixteenth, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, so now there’s a time limit on this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I leave on the seventeenth, so I have to be sure that your plans are actually happening - and if you don’t have anything, then I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>get you a date.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He groans, mentally counting how long he has until her deadline. “Sure. Fine, whatever. I’ll do it, okay? Can we stop talking about this now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at us,” she says, far too cheerfully, “our first holiday season trying something new. I’m proud of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Carol of the Bells </span>
  </em>
  <span>begins to play on the speaker for at least the tenth time since they sat down in the coffee shop, and for the first but not the last time, Murphy audibly groans. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>
    <em>December 15th - </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy works for the next three days straight, which means he gives his and Lexa’s deal next to no thought. Honestly, he’s somewhat hoping that she’ll simply be too wrapped up in her holiday plans to remember anything about it, and he’ll be able to sleep for the entirety of Christmas day and pretend that it never happened. He doesn’t need her around to have a good holiday. He doesn’t need anyone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet - his dependence on his best friend is showing quite obviously, as on his next day off, she’s busy at work and he has nothing to do. He ends up taking a walk through the city to clear his head and, somehow, his feet take him on the familiar path back to the very same coffee shop that he spends every single day of his life in. For a moment, he hesitates at the door and almost decides to carry on walking down the street and do something else for a change, but with a sigh he pulls it open and walks into the building, giving a nod in greeting to his coworker behind the counter as he orders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That one </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wham! </span>
  </em>
  <span>song blasts out over the speaker and Murphy sighs as his coworker, Finn, hands him his obnoxiously sweet hot chocolate. “We gotta see about changing this,” he says, gesturing upwards in reference to the music. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn shrugs in semi-agreement, but he’s smiling. “I don’t know. It’s festive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, festive, sure,” Murphy scoffs, but he can tell that Finn’s enjoying the music selection more than he’s saying, and he’s not about to force his newfound hatred of the holiday onto anyone having a good time. Instead, he says his goodbyes and heads over to the coffee bar where his only intention is to steal a handful of sugar packets to bring back to his supply in the apartment, when he sees him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rather - he </span>
  <em>
    <span>hears </span>
  </em>
  <span>the stranger first, as he’s completely wrapped up in a phone call that seems to be more exasperating than anything else. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Octavia, I’m coming home soon,” he’s saying, but he’s running a hand through his unruly curly hair, clearly stressed. The books piled up in front of him on the table he’s sitting at indicate he’s either a student or too much of a bookworm for his own good. Despite that possibility, Murphy has to admit it - he’s cute. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, he knows he’s being somewhat awkward by lingering, so he makes his way to the coffee bar so that his back is to the stranger, who somehow hasn’t noticed him yet. His table, however, is right next to the bar, so Murphy can hear everything he’s saying. “Yeah, I’ll bring him,” the stranger says into the phone, but the more he speaks, the tighter his voice becomes. “No, I mean it. Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’ll bring him. No - I’m not lying. He’s coming. I already told you his name is John, and yes, he’s coming home with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy nearly chokes in surprise at the mention of his first name, one he hasn’t gone by in years. Of course he knows the stranger isn’t talking about him, but from the way he’s snapping about this other John, he knows there’s more to this, and he can’t help but be curious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t understand why you’re pressuring me to bring him when it’s not like you’re bringing anybody home,” the stranger continues, and then there’s a pause. “Oh - you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span>? I see. Great. Yeah, can’t wait to meet her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’s coming. Look, I’m going to go now - yeah, fine - okay, bye Octavia. See you soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stranger sighs loudly when he hangs up the phone. Whatever situation he’s found himself in, Murphy feels bad for the guy, but now he’s been hanging out at the coffee bar for a suspicious amount of time, and it’s time to make his exit. As he turns around, though, he sees that the two of them are the only ones in the coffee shop, so now it feels more awkward if he doesn’t say anything to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stuffs his handful of sugar packets into his jacket pocket, and then hastily attempts to make his exit. “Happy holidays,” he says to the guy with a nod, hoping that’s more than enough. As he says it, though, Murphy’s not exactly sure why he’s trying so hard to make sure this random stranger in a coffee shop doesn’t see him as awkward. It’s not like he’s ever going to see him again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure,” the guy replies, and now even more than before, he sounds completely distraught. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy pauses for a moment, his quick escape attempt thwarted. It’s not his business or his job to make sure the stranger is okay - but it’s also not like he has anything better to do. “You alright?” he settles on, turning back around so that he’s facing him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stranger blinks up at him, clearly somewhat surprised to be asked the question, and the longer he’s silent the more Murphy begins to regret his decision to stay here. This is exactly why he doesn’t go out of his way to talk to people. Yet, after another moment, the stranger slowly shakes his head. “I sort of created a problem for myself,” he says, “and now I’m not sure how to get out of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What kind of problem?” Murphy asks before he can stop himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, the stranger doesn’t seem upset at the intrusion. “Long story short,” he replies, “I’ve been telling my family that I’m dating someone to get them off my back, except now they want me to bring him home for the holidays - and, well, as you can see, I’m here alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy hums in understanding. “Why don’t you just tell them you broke up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s a bad plan full of holes, and they both know it. “The lie will be pretty obvious,” the stranger replies, “and - I don’t know, I just thought I’d have someone willing to come home with me by now, but here we are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here we are,” Murphy repeats, slowly. The gears of his mind are turning as the pieces of a plan start to formulate in his mind, but it’s an insane one, and he quickly dismisses it. Instead, he turns his attention to the table the guy is sitting at, seeing that he hasn’t ordered anything. “You want a coffee?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no, I can’t ask you to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s fine, employee privilege,” Murphy replies, scanning the shop one more time to make sure that nobody else was inside. Once satisfied they were alone, he quickly hops behind the counter, grabbing a cup of coffee for him. Finn continues to aimlessly scroll on his phone, not caring in the slightest. “Cream or sugar?” he calls back to the stranger at the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s slightly miffed at Murphy’s actions, but he shakes his head. “Uh - no, just black, thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy scoffs in distaste, but he snaps a lid on and emerges back from behind the counter to walk back to the table. The stranger moves his books to the side, gesturing for Murphy to take a seat, which he does, putting down his own drink as well. It occurs to him several times that this is an odd thing he’s doing, and he’s got absolutely no reason to try to impress this person, but he’s too far in it now - he can’t stop here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, thank you,” the stranger says, and then he holds out a hand over the table. “I’m Bellamy. It’s nice to meet you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Murphy,” he replies, giving his hand a shake. It’s oddly formal, yet somehow charming at the same time. “So - tell me more about this fake date of yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy sighs, deflating slightly at the words. “It was bad of me to lie, I know that,” he says, “so I guess this is just karma catching up to me. I think I’m just going to have to go home and admit to everyone that my boyfriend doesn’t actually exist. It’ll prove Octavia right, but I guess I can’t really do anything else about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Octavia?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My sister,” he answers. “Who is apparently bringing her girlfriend home for the holidays, which is just going to make my lie worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy drums his fingers against the table, deep in thought. “I’m guessing you’ve already asked your friends if any of them can pose as your boyfriend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As guilty as I feel about that, yes,” he replies, “and they all have plans. Which is great for them, of course, but incredibly frustrating for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods in response, thinking this over. “When do you leave to go home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The eighteenth.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, we have three days to find you a boyfriend, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy scoffs. “Yeah, sure. You know any Johns willing to come home with me after knowing me for a grand total of three days?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy raises an eyebrow. “He has to be named John?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, don’t look at me like that - it was a common name and I was put on the spot, so yes, part of the lie was that his name is John.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well - </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>name is John.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy blinks, taken aback. “But you just said-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s my first name, I don’t go by it,” Murphy replies with a dismissive hand, “but - listen.” Against his better judgement, he goes on to explain all about the deal he made with Lexa and how he, at this point, has absolutely no plans for the holiday season. The more he speaks, the more he can tell that Bellamy’s catching on, and from the look in his eye, he’s not completely against it. Still - he doesn’t know why he’s trying so hard to convince him. Five minutes ago he hadn’t even known this guy existed, and now he’s laying the groundwork for him to take him to his family home for two weeks. Sure, maybe part of him is doing it just to spite Lexa since he knows she doesn’t believe he can make plans for the holidays, but that’s not entirely it, and he knows it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Murphy,” Bellamy says, after he’s finished, “let me get this straight. Are you telling me that you’d seriously want to come home with me for the holidays and pretend to be my boyfriend of more than a year?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugs, putting on a brave face even though his heart is racing and he isn’t sure why. “Yeah, sure. Why not, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At this moment, his phone begins to vibrate in his pocket. Lexa’s calling him, and while he doesn’t want anything to interrupt the moment, it’s Lexa, so he answers. “What’s up?” he says. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s your last day,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she says, and he rolls his eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Did you make plans, or should I start calling people?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did I make plans?” he repeats, looking over at Bellamy. There’s a pause, and then Bellamy nods softly, and they both smile. “Yeah - I did make plans, thank you very much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He manages to get off the phone quickly, putting it away and turning his full attention back to the man across from him. Murphy wonders, absentmindedly, if Lexa actually would have started calling people if he hadn’t come up with any plans. He isn’t sure if she would have, to be honest, but it still feels better than he’d admit having proved her wrong. “So,” he says, “we’re doing this, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy looks absolutely mystified, but he’s smiling, too. “I - yeah, I guess so. If you’re sure, Murphy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like I said,” he says, “why not?”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>
    <em>December 18th - </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy never should have agreed to this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s all he can think about as he stands in his apartment, suitcase fully packed and ready to go on his bed. Bellamy’s going to be here any second to pick him up and take him to some small town miles and miles away that he’s never even heard of, and then it’ll be far too late to get out of this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well - it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>already </span>
  </em>
  <span>too late to get out of this. This thought runs repeatedly through his mind, anxiety brimming just beneath his skin. It was a stupid, spur-of-the-moment plan that they’d come up with, and there’s no way it’s going to work. He barely even knows the guy. Sure, they’d spent an hour or so in the coffee shop that day they’d met, talking about basic details like what they did for a living, but since then he’d only texted Bellamy once to confirm his address. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lexa’s already left. The apartment is eerily quiet, so much so that it’s unsettling. Maybe he should just phone Bellamy and tell him the plan is off before he gets here. It wouldn’t be hard to call his boss afterwards, and tell him he changed his mind and doesn’t actually need the next two weeks off, and then life would be back to normal and he could settle back into his easy routine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His phone vibrates. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m outside in the car. Do you want me to come up? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bellamy has texted him. Murphy sighs, firing back a quick message that he was coming down, and then he walked out of the apartment, suitcase rolling behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s car is a simple grey sedan that’s nothing remarkable or out of the ordinary, but the sight of him sitting in the driver’s seat is enough to make Murphy’s breath hitch. Still, he walks to the car, sliding his suitcase in the trunk when he sees that it’s been opened for him. He takes a breath, closes the trunk, and then slides into the passenger seat. “Hey,” he says, then resists the urge to cringe at how awkward he sounds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Bellamy replies, smiling. “Thank you for doing this. Really, I appreciate it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” he says. “Plus, you’re helping me out, too, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckles, nodding. “Right, that’s true. Well, uh - are you ready to go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy glances over at the brick apartment building one last time, but then he nods. If he were going to make an escape, the opportunity to do so has long since passed. “Sure, yeah. Let’s do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy gets the car going and before too long, they’re on the open highway, leaving the city in the rearview. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wonderful Christmastime </span>
  </em>
  <span>is playing quietly over the radio, yet again confirming that Murphy can’t escape overplayed Christmas music. He doesn’t change it or turn it off, though, content to let the music fill in the silence between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Bellamy says, after a good long while has passed, “you work in the coffee shop, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just - I just want to go over details.” Bellamy’s gripping the steering wheel tightly. Despite the fact that he now has a fake boyfriend to show his family, he’s clearly still stressed about the whole thing, and for some reason Murphy feels a pang of sympathy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hums along to the song for a bar, not realizing that he’s fallen victim to its catchiness until he’s already done it. “I do work there,” he says, “as a baker. I want to open my own store, one day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Soon, hopefully.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy nods, looking like he’s feeling a touch more at ease. “Okay, great. We can say we met at the coffee shop, then. I work at the museum two blocks over, so it fits.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a curator there, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. I’m completely unqualified, but they had to rush to fill the vacancy, so I got lucky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy chuckles softly. “I doubt you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>completely </span>
  </em>
  <span>unqualified.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t even have my masters degree,” Bellamy fires back, laughing at his own circumstance. “But it’s fine. I love my job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They fill in the silence of the drive with more mindless chatter, going back and forth and talking about parts of their lives. He ends up learning that Bellamy’s family is quite small, actually, and they’re really only going to see his sister and mother. He only drinks black coffee, he loves green tea, and for some ungodly reason, he’s proficient in Latin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hours have passed, but it feels like it hasn’t been long at all when he pulls off the highway and they begin driving through the small town of Arkadia. “I’ve never even heard of this place,” Murphy says, fixating his attention out the window. The buildings on either side of the street seem old but charming, and the town is already completely decked out in holiday decorations, complete with a large tree in the town square that’s visible from the road. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nobody ever has,” Bellamy replies, turning down side street after side street. Finally, he begins to slow the car, turning into the driveway of a house that looks identical to the houses on either side of it. They’re definitely deep in the suburbs. The house in front of him that must be Bellamy’s family home looks like it could have come right out of a Hallmark movie, in that it’s nice enough, but completely forgettable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy turns the car off, but then he sits in his seat for a moment, completely still. “You alright?” Murphy asks, surprising himself at how gentle and sincere his voice sounds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t really have a choice,” he replies, putting on an obvious fake smile for him. “Are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> alright? This is your last chance to escape, if you’re going to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes, I’ll just walk back to the city, no problem,” Murphy scoffs, trying to get him to laugh. He succeeds in that, though he’s still not sure why exactly it is that he cares so much. Still, it’s enough to get Bellamy to unbuckle his seatbelt and actually get out of the car, so he supposes they’re making progress of some sort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The front door of the house flies open as soon as their feet are on solid ground, and a girl races out, crashing into Bellamy and embracing him in a barrelling hug. “You made it!” she cries out, her long brown hair bouncing in the slight breeze. Another girl stands in the doorway of the house, though she’s much calmer than the first and she catches Murphy’s eye first, raising a hand in greeting. He does the same in return. It’s not hard for him to figure out that the brunette is the sister and the girl in the doorway is her girlfriend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s sister - Octavia, he remembers is her name - turns to him, then, a loaded look in her eye. “So,” she says, “you’re real, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes all of Murphy’s composure not to burst out laughing. “Yeah, so it seems,” he replies, walking around the front of the car towards her. Bellamy’s stressed enough about this as is - the least he can do is make sure his introduction to his family goes well. He’s about to offer her a handshake, but then Octavia races forwards and hugs him, too. Murphy stumbles back for a moment, surprised, but he slowly returns the embrace, glancing over her shoulder at Bellamy with an expression that he hopes conveys his bewilderment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice to meet you, John,” she says as she draws away, practically bouncing on her heels. Murphy once again struggles to keep a straight face, realizing he’s going to have to come to terms with being referred to by his first name for the next two weeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You, too,” he says, but she’s already gone, grabbing Bellamy’s hand and pulling him into the house. Murphy follows slowly, hanging back to introduce himself to Octavia’s girlfriend, who he finds out is named Niylah. Her energy is a direct polar opposite to Octavia’s, but he supposes that’s why they work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s mother is a lovely woman named Aurora, and though he doesn’t mind talking to her, practically seconds after their introduction Bellamy’s taking his hand and pulling him away. “I’ll show you where you’re staying,” he says, loudly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a horrible liar, aren’t you?” Murphy asks once they’re out of earshot of everyone else. “I don’t know how you lasted so long with this one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m trying my best,” Bellamy fires back, but he doesn’t disagree with the assessment. Instead, he leads Murphy down a flight of stairs to the basement of the house, where a guest room has been set up. “Niylah already claimed the spare bedroom upstairs, so this is yours,” he says. From the way he says it, he sounds apologetic, but the room is already bigger than his bedroom back in his apartment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is great, thanks,” Murphy says. “My stuff is still in your car, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy blinks, as if just realizing that his is, too. “Oh, right - uh, okay. I’ll bring that in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m perfectly capable of bringing in my own suitcase,” he replies, and though he means it in a teasing way, Bellamy somehow takes it completely seriously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I know, I didn’t mean - I’m sorry, I just-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bellamy,” Murphy says, cutting him off and, before he can think better of it, taking him by the shoulders to calm him down. “It’s fine. Relax, okay? It’s all going to go fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallows, but then Bellamy nods, seeming genuinely relaxed from Murphy’s words. “Yeah,” he agrees, “it’s all going to be fine, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy nods, and then they go back up the stairs, retrieving their belongings from the car. The rest of the evening goes smoothly, too, as dinner is quaint and everyone is perfectly kind to him. Aurora asks him about his job, and Octavia tells him how she works in hospitality, too, and then the conversation moves to center around her and Niylah and they’re in the clear. He makes it back downstairs to the guest room with ease, saying goodnight to Bellamy and everyone else and closing the door to find privacy once again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The evening goes perfectly, but as soon as he hears Bellamy’s footsteps retreat back upstairs, he flings himself onto the bed with a long sigh and a great amount of fatigue. “It’s all going to be fine,” he repeats into the pillow, but he’s far from convinced. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>
    <em>December 19th - </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remind me again why we’re doing this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy sighs for what must be the twentieth time since they walked into the antique shop. “Don’t you think it would be weird if we didn’t get each other gifts for Christmas? Look, at least this way we can at least get each other something we’ll actually like, rather than just guessing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy scoffs, still not convinced. “I mean - I guess so, but this is all a bit much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is not a bit </span>
  <em>
    <span>much. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s nice. What do you have against giving gifts anyways, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets out a breath, tearing his gaze away from a line of snowglobes and looking over at Bellamy. “I just don’t really do it,” he says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, you hate Christmas or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, actually,” he says, “I kind of do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy tilts his head at this, putting down the paperweight that had, for some reason, stolen so much of his attention. “Really?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy hates how genuinely concerned he sounds. “Yeah, really, okay? That’s why I didn’t have any plans, because I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>make </span>
  </em>
  <span>plans for the holidays.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can - Can I ask why you don’t like this time of year?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grits his teeth, not really in the mood to go and reveal some of his deepest feelings, but suspecting that he doesn’t have a way out of this one. After all, he has to spend the next little while with Bellamy and his family - the path of least resistance is probably the best one to take. “I just never had anyone to celebrate with,” he settles on replying. “My parents died when I was really young, so, Christmas has just never really been a </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing </span>
  </em>
  <span>for me like it seems to be for everyone else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be,” he replies, “it was a really long time ago. Anyway - what do you even want from here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy stares at him for a moment longer, but thankfully he takes the hint and doesn’t press the subject further. Murphy’s grateful for that, maybe more than he needs to be, but he can’t help but notice how well Bellamy seems to be able to read him and know exactly what he wants even if they’ve only known one another for a few days. “Anything,” Bellamy finally says. “I’m really not picky, I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks over at him, noticing how his attention has yet again been stolen by the golden paperweight. “Clearly,” he mutters, and then holds out his hand. “Come on, give it here. I can’t for the life of me imagine why that, of all things, fascinates you so much, but merry Christmas. That’s your gift now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy looks surprised for a moment, but then he grins, handing over the paperweight. It’s a simple golden object, but now that he’s holding it, Murphy can see a phrase carved into the side in another language. “Thank you,” Bellamy says, looking far more bashful than the situation really calls for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t tell me,” Murphy says, “this is Latin, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Esse quam videri,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bellamy recites, the words easily rolling off his tongue. “To be, rather than to seem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t help but laugh at this. “Nice sentiment, but doesn’t it kind of go against, you know, all of this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well - it’s the thought that counts.” Bellamy’s voice is growing softer, full of more emotion that Murphy isn’t sure he wants to deal with right now, so he simply nods and walks over to the counter, paying for the paperweight as well as a small gift bag to put it in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he’s done, Bellamy is standing at the front of the store, ready to leave. “What, I don’t get anything?” Murphy asks, teasing him yet again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I already got your gift,” Bellamy replies, opening the door and holding it for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really? When?” He glances over at Bellamy’s hands, both of which are empty. The man does nothing but shrug, a look on his face that suggests Murphy will simply have to wait and see. “Alright, fine - keep your secrets,” he mutters, but he really doesn’t mind. The only thing worse than giving gifts, he thinks, is having to receive one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air is cold when they make it outside to the town’s street, suggesting that any day now, it’s going to snow. They’re in the center of the town, and the giant Christmas tree that he’d spotted from the road on their way in now stands before them, reaching up towards the bright blue sky. Someone has taken care to cover it with lights, tinsel and ornaments and, perhaps most stereotypically, a giant star has been placed at the top. It looks like something that comes right out of a Christmas card, and Murphy can’t believe that something like this really exists in Bellamy’s hometown. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s town tradition to have the tree,” Bellamy says when he catches him staring. “I never really got it, but it’s incredibly breathtaking when it gets lit up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like a waste of energy to me,” Murphy mutters, gazing up at the tree that seems to loom over him threateningly, as if it could fall on him at any moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy looks at him in silence for a moment. “You’re really not a romantic, are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m not,” he replies, “though you clearly are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess so,” he says with a shrug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the type to like big gestures,” Murphy continues on, knowing from Bellamy’s lack of retorts that he’s right. “And you probably are the type to throw rocks at people’s windows to get their attention, or blast a song from a stereo that you hold over your head as an apology. Sure, you like flowers and the like, but you believe in all or nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy chuckles. “Alright, yeah, I’m a romantic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I’m not,” Murphy finishes. “This relationship is doomed to fail.” He means it as a joke, he truly does, but that doesn’t stop the aching feeling that settles in his chest when he sees how distraught Bellamy looks. That wasn’t his intention, not even close. Though he’d never admit it out loud, he’s actually having a fairly good time out in the town with Bellamy, and he doesn’t necessarily want it to end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” Bellamy says, softly after a while, “let’s get some coffee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Murphy agrees, glad that the awkward moment has passed, but still pondering exactly what it all means - and why, exactly, he cares so much. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>
    <em>December 22nd - </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Night has already fallen when the first snowfall starts to flutter down from the sky. Everyone else has already gone to bed, but Murphy’s wide awake, so he sits by the large window towards the back of the house, gazing out over the town. The giant tree has been lit up, now, and it casts an eerie glow over the center of Arkadia. Maybe he’s supposed to find it heartwarming, but he only feels haunted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels like hours go by where he simply stares out into the night, watching the snow pile down. The weather only grows colder outside and he pulls a blanket that he found on the couch closer to his chest. It’s true that he doesn’t like Christmas, but he’s always had a penchant for the snow. Though he refuses to admit it, it brings him a sense of peace. Knowing that she loves it as well, he brings out his phone to take a picture and send to Lexa, hoping that she’s having a good holiday season as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sudden sound breaks through the silence and shakes him from his calm. It sounds as if a rock has just hit the window next to his face, and he wonders if that means the snow is turning to hail, when it sounds again. Murphy blinks, glancing down at the backyard that the window overlooks, when he sees him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s standing in the yard amidst the thick layer of snow that’s covering the grass, armed with pebbles that he’s tossing up at the window. Murphy gives him a look of contempt that either he can’t see or he ignores, because he only throws another rock at the window, and then frantically gestures for Murphy to come outside and join him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s either that, or having to explain a broken window to Aurora Blake, so he sighs and quietly makes his way outside to the yard. “What?” Murphy says once he’s closed the screen door behind him. “It’s too cold for this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nice!” Bellamy argues, throwing his arms out to the side and catching snow in his gloved hands. “Come on, you can’t disagree with me on this one. I just wanted you to be out here and experience it with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Contrary to what you believe,” he replies, “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>seen snow before, Bell.” The nickname slides off his tongue before he can stop it, though if Bellamy takes any notice of it, he doesn’t say so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he simply laughs, tilting his head back. “This is different. It’s Christmas snow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not Christmas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, well, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost </span>
  </em>
  <span>Christmas - lighten up, would you, Murphy? Look at it all out here. How can you look at all this and still pretend to hate the holidays?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy grumbles, pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders. The snowfall seems to grow heavier as he stands there, as if determined to pummel him into the earth and bury him in a coffin of white powder. “I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>pretending,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he says, shaking his head slightly to get the snowflakes out of his hair, though it’s a pointless movement as more fall from the sky to take their place. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>hate the holidays. I already told you. And I </span>
  <em>
    <span>also </span>
  </em>
  <span>told you that you’re the type to make big romantic gestures, which you only proved by throwing those rocks at your own window, so clearly I’m right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except, Bellamy’s not listening to anything he’s saying, and instead he reaches out and takes Murphy’s hand in his own before he can say or do anything about it. He pulls Murphy forwards, out into the center of the yard, so that they’re as surrounded by snow as they can possibly be. “You like it out here,” Bellamy says. “Just admit it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More snow stings his skin as it falls but he doesn’t try to retreat back inside, not yet. Rather, he watches Bellamy and how his movements seem so carefree and so relaxed, as if being out in the snow is rejuvenating his spirit. And still - he’s not sure why he cares. Murphy’s here, in this house, to be a placeholder for a man that doesn’t exist, and nothing more. He’s here to appease his best friend and so that Bellamy doesn’t have to reveal himself as a liar. He’s here to make sure the days pass easily, and then he’s off the hook and he can block Bellamy’s number and never think about this period of time ever, ever again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet, as more and more time goes by, the less appealing that resolution sounds to him. The more enticing the thought of being buried in snow sounds, and the more absolutely enchanted the man before him becomes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he admits, “I like it out here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Knew it,” Bellamy retorts instantly, and then he’s picking up a handful of snow in his hands and throwing it at Murphy’s chest, a wicked smile on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy blinks, stumbling back from the impact, though he’s smiling, too. “Here I am trying to be honest with you, and you go ahead and do </span>
  <em>
    <span>that!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to fight back, or are you just going to let me win so easily?” Bellamy replies, already reaching for another handful of snow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hasn’t done this in years, but Murphy’s in too deep - he can’t say no. With a laugh,  he throws a snowball of his own at Bellamy, and soon the two of them are locked in a battle that shows no signs of ending anytime soon. Everyone else in the house is asleep but they pay no mind to this, the rest of the world falling out of their minds as their laughter grows louder the more snow crashes to the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fight doesn’t end until Bellamy ends up crashing into him, pushing him into the soft snow. “That’s got to be a foul,” Murphy cries, pushing him off of him but making no attempt to get up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy stays down, too, laying next to him and still laughing, his breath visible in the cold air. “Doesn’t matter,” he says. “I won.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you did not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did, Murphy, you’ll just have to come to terms with that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scoffs, but he doesn’t keep arguing, because a part of him is fine with letting Bellamy take the victory. It’s nice, he decides, to just lie here and stare up at the sky that keeps on opening up over them. It’s nice not to care about anything else, and sure, maybe Bellamy being the one with him makes it that much better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Lexa was right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or maybe he’s an idiot, and Bellamy’s just over excited by a perfectly normal weather event that happens every winter, and he’s reading into the details of the moment that don’t actually exist. Maybe he’s enchanted not by the man next to him, but by not being alone, and it doesn’t even occur to him that both of those things can be true at the very same time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s cold,” he says, suddenly, standing up and walking back towards the house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to go,” Bellamy calls back, sitting up but not moving to follow him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy hesitates as he gets to the door, knowing that nobody is stopping him from having fun except for himself, but he opens it anyway. “Goodnight, Bellamy,” he says, closing the door behind him without waiting for a response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Bellamy watches him go with pure sadness in his eyes, then he’ll never know. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>
    <em>December 24th - </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>The days pass somewhat routinely. Murphy goes where he’s expected, playing along with Bellamy’s ruse, and somehow getting away with not having to be overly romantic or sincere in anybody else’s presence. Really, Bellamy must never lie about anything, because his family is far too trusting of him and what he’s doing there. It would be sweet, if it weren’t so blatantly false on his part. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the night before Christmas, Bellamy walks down to the door of the basement guest room with him, having just finished a lovely dinner with everyone else. It’s nice that his family is small, Murphy thinks, because he isn’t sure if he’d be able to cope with a bustling crowd of countless people with names he’d only forget. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The big day is tomorrow,” Bellamy’s saying, stopping in the doorway as they get to the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy enters, turning back to say goodnight. “Can’t really call it a big day, though, can we? It’s not going to be any different than how it’s been.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” he replies, though his voice is growing softer and it’s clear that he’s deep in thought about something he’s nowhere close to saying aloud. “I know I already said thank you, Murphy, for doing all this, but I appreciate you staying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about it,” he says, and he means it. “I’ve had a good time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Bellamy says, quietly. “Yeah, no, that’s good. I’m glad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s still hovering in the doorway, holding the frame in one hand and preventing Murphy from closing the door. “Goodnight, Bellamy,” he says, hoping to either shake loose what it is that he clearly wants to say, or clue him in to the fact that it’s time to leave him alone now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy looks up, meeting his gaze for a moment, and then suddenly his lips are on Murphy’s and his hand is wrapped around the back of his neck, holding him close. For a split second, Murphy nearly pulls away, but then he sinks into the kiss. It doesn’t last long, but as they slowly break away, he keeps his eyes closed for a moment longer, doing all he can to make sure he remembers this feeling for the rest of his life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight, Murphy,” Bellamy says, and then he reaches out, but not for Murphy this time. Instead, he takes hold of the door handle and pulls it shut. His footsteps retreat back up the stairs and then he’s gone, as if he were never even there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s here to take part in a fake relationship, but the lines are blurring, and now he doesn’t know where they stand. Really, he barely </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>the guy, but - it feels like he does. It feels like he’s supposed to be here, but how can that be the case? No, he’s just falling victim to the intoxicating kiss, and because it’s Christmas Eve, and that’s really the end of the story. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unless - well, unless it isn’t, and the longer this all goes on, the less opposed he is to that ending. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve never met anyone like her before, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Lexa had said about Clarke back when they first started dating, and for the first time, he understands exactly what she meant. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>
    <em>December 25th - </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>“John Murphy, will you marry me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know how they got here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The morning had gone smoothly enough. Octavia and Niylah exchanged gifts first, and then the Blake siblings and their mother had. Everyone was in great spirits, and honestly, Murphy was starting to understand the hype behind this Christmas tradition. He and Lexa never got each other gifts, and even though Lexa hated the holidays significantly less than he did, she understood his aversion to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, when he’d given Bellamy the gift that he already saw coming, his heart swelled seeing the look on his face and he had thought well, maybe that’s why people do this. Maybe it’s really as simple as making someone you love happy, and if that’s the source of the tradition, then maybe he hadn’t given it enough credit. And so what if the whole scenario they were in was fake? He could find genuine happiness in that, and that could be enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well - that’s what he’d thought, until Bellamy had gotten down on one knee and shoved a very real ring in his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” Murphy says before he can stop himself. He’s sure this has to be a dream that’s quickly turning into a nightmare. There is no way that Bellamy’s really asking him this question. It’s got to be part of the ruse, but even so, he hadn’t discussed it with him beforehand. No, he’d just wordlessly kissed him last night, and proposed marriage in the morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s growing more desperate as the seconds tick onwards, but Murphy’s not exactly feeling sympathetic. “You didn’t tell me you were going to do this!” Octavia whispers, clapping her hands in excitement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost feels bad to let her down. “Yeah, that seems to be a running theme here,” he says, looking back over at Bellamy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time keeps on going. Everyone around them is starting to pick up on something more going on here, but they aren’t sure what, so the room is eerily silent. Bellamy has the nerve to look slightly distraught as he slowly closes the box containing the ring. “Is that a no?” he asks, quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy was upset beforehand, sure, but he figured it was over something simple, like Bellamy just forgetting to tell him that this was a necessary part of their fake relationship. But now, this sudden proposal coupled with the kiss last night - it’s all becoming strikingly clear to him. “Has this all just been a joke to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time since he’d known her, Octavia was silent beside them. “Of course not,” Bellamy says, rising to his feet. The amount of dedication and real emotion he’s putting into this would be admirable, if it weren’t at Murphy’s expense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure. Yeah. Great,” he snaps, fighting the red-hot anger that burns in his chest from sending his fist into Bellamy’s face and tears down his cheeks. Turning to Aurora, he manages to get out, “Thank you for letting me stay here. You have a very lovely home,” before he’s racing down the stairs and flying into the guest room, grabbing his stuff and tossing it into his suitcase before he can even think twice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy follows him down, because he always does. “Murphy, wait, please-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait? What should I be waiting for? Are you going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>propose </span>
  </em>
  <span>again? I mean, what the fuck was that, Bellamy?” he cries, hands full of his own clothes, turning towards the other man with wild eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just - I had told my mom, months ago, that I was thinking of proposing because she just wants me to be happy, you know, and I thought it was a fine lie at the time but then as time went on she kept asking, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy scoffs, turning away and narrowing his eyes. “So, what? Your lie got way out of hand, so you decided that was more important than how I might feel about that? I mean, some warning would have been nice, Bellamy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>tell you!” he fires back, as if he has any right to be angry right now. “It would have ruined it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ruined </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“The surprise!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finishes shoving his belongings into the suitcase and haphazardly zips it up, lifting it off the bed. “Well, you definitely got that. You definitely </span>
  <em>
    <span>surprised </span>
  </em>
  <span>me!” Bellamy looks like he’s about to speak, but Murphy’s nowhere near done. “No, you know what? You don’t get to manipulate my feelings like that. I mean, with the kiss yesterday, and now this, I just - was it real to you, Bellamy? Or is this all just one big game to make you feel better about yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s quiet and he’s shrinking in on himself, as though he’s nothing more than a puppet and someone’s cut his strings. “It was real to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was it?” he asks, ignoring the way he shivers at the thought. “Was it really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it wasn’t, I would have told you,” he says, “but I thought - I don’t know what I thought, Murphy. I thought you might actually want to say yes, but for real. I’ve never felt like this before, like how I feel when I’m around you. I know it’s fast but I really thought, I really </span>
  <em>
    <span>think, </span>
  </em>
  <span>that you’re the one!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The confession sounds genuine, and if it weren’t prefaced with what he’d just done, maybe Murphy would appreciate it more. Maybe he would have stopped and given it more thought, and decided if he felt the same, but he can’t, not now. “That’s not fair to me,” he says, “and you know it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Murphy-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s done. You did it. It’s over now. I’m going home, so - goodbye, Bellamy.” The words are harsher than he wants, but the anger in his chest is very real. He feels like he’s been made to be a fool this entire time. He let the holidays get to him, and he walked right into this situation, and now he’s too deep that he can’t get out without getting his heart broken. That’s the worst part of all of this, he thinks - he had genuinely begun to care. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had thought Bellamy might just be the one, too, and it’s never hurt so much to be wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Murphy, wait!” he calls out, but Murphy shoves past him and walks up the stairs and right out the front door of the house. He doesn’t have a car, so he hasn’t thought this through, but he simply starts walking down the street, his suitcase in tow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy doesn’t follow him outside. It’s true that Murphy needs space, and a lot of it, but just once he wishes that the man wasn’t able to read him so well. He wishes that he would race outside, and keep apologizing, and maybe just kiss him one more time. He wishes that all these things would happen, and he hates himself for knowing that if they did, he very well might just give in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nobody follows him. Murphy keeps walking, and he doesn’t look back. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>
    <em>December 28th - </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, it takes him almost a day to figure out a bus route to get back to the city and back to his apartment. When he finally gets home, sometime in the middle of the night, Christmas has already ended and the snow outside is turning to slush that seeps through his shoes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets under the covers of his own bed, and doesn’t leave the apartment for days. Bellamy texts him, sure, but he doesn’t answer. Really, Murphy should just block his number, but he can’t bring himself to do that. Instead, he just stares at each notification as it comes in until his eyes start to strain and he ends up turning his phone off for some silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lexa calls him on the twenty-eighth. He doesn’t want to talk to anybody, but it’s Lexa, so he answers. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Hey,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she says from the other end of the line, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“So, how are your plans going?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy doesn’t answer for a moment. “When do you come home?” he says, completely avoiding her question. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“In January - Murphy, are you okay? What’s going on?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He hates how she can tell when something is up even when he’s not even physically in the same room as her. “I’ll tell you when you’re back, okay? Just - have a good time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Murphy-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>With a pang of guilt, he hangs up on her, and then wishes he hadn’t. Still, she doesn’t call him back. He knows he spends every waking moment pushing people away, but just once, he wishes someone would push back. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>
    <em>December 31st - </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s sitting on their beaten down apartment couch, reclining as he watches the news coverage of the countdown to the new year. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“We’re ten minutes out,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>the announcer is saying to a crowd of people who have gathered on the street for no other reason that to scream out their excitement that time, as it is prone to do, is still moving forward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His phone is off, and save for the television the apartment is quiet. A fresh layer of snow from last night coats the ground and for the first time since Christmas, Murphy’s feeling just a slight amount of peace when - </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tap. Tap. Tap. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound is coming from the window, but nothing else save for himself is moving inside the apartment. Hesitantly, he stands up and moves over towards it as the sound keeps continuing. He peers out the window, seeing nothing, until he looks down and - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, great,” he mutters, but he opens the window and sticks his head outside to meet the cold air, anyways. “Go away, Bellamy!” he calls out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the distance, all he can hear is crowds shouting and cars hurrying down the streets, a sign that they’re very far removed from the quaint charms of Bellamy’s small hometown. “Come down,” Bellamy calls back, “please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy huffs, but he supposes that if he just shuts the window again, he’ll be submitting himself to hours upon hours of rocks against the glass. With great resignation, he pulls on his jacket and walks out of the building, where Bellamy now stands before him. “What are you doing here?” he says, before the other man has a chance to say anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just wanted to apologize,” he says, the shine in his eyes visible through the dark night. “I should have told you what I was going to do - or better yet, I shouldn’t have done it at all. I think I just - I wanted to skip a lot of steps, you know? I know we were there on a fake relationship, which is my fault, too, but I got too excited about how I was feeling for you and moved </span>
  <em>
    <span>way </span>
  </em>
  <span>too fast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So - I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I did that, but I hope you can give me another chance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy sighs, glancing up at where he knows his window to be from here. The distance is a fair throw, and for a moment, he’s slightly in awe at Bellamy’s dedication. “How did you even know which window was mine?” he finds himself asking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well...I might have talked to Lexa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke and I have been friends for a while, and I suspected that the girlfriend she was bringing home was the same Lexa you told me about, but I couldn’t be sure until I called Clarke and got her to give the phone to Lexa. I told her some of what happened, and, well - she yelled at me, but then I told her I wanted to come here and throw pebbles at your window to apologize and she helped me out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy pauses, taking this in. “You told Lexa you wanted to throw rocks at my window,” he repeats, “and she helped you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, alright, it sounds ridiculous when you phrase it like that, but I think she’s a romantic, too, you know. There are more of us than you think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You tracked down my best friend,” he continues, completely ignoring what Bellamy’s saying, “just so you could show up here, seconds before the new year, and apologize for proposing to me six days ago because you fell in love with me too quickly by throwing rocks at my window?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy blinks, surprised. “I didn’t tell you that I was in love with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With it all out in the open like that and the sounds of the bustling city in the background, Murphy’s not all that sure what he was angry about. No one had ever done such a grand gesture for him before, and he’s starting to realize he might not be so far removed from being a romantic as he once thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” he says, “don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy doesn’t say anything, for a moment, but then he’s smiling brighter than the city lights all around them. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I do. Do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Several large fireworks sails through the air and bursts open in the night sky, ringing in the new year right above their heads. “I do,” he whispers softly, and then they kiss, the city fading into obscurity at their backs. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>
    <em>December 25th, one year later - </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke and Lexa get married on Christmas day. The ceremony is gorgeous, and Murphy can tell that Lexa’s never been happier than this very moment. Seeing her so genuinely joyful and knowing that the rest of her life is going to be just that is enough to nearly send him to tears several times, but for her sake, he manages to keep his composure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s so busy with that side of things that he and Bellamy don’t get a chance to properly talk until well into the reception, where they both find each other leaning against the bar and watching the newlyweds on the dance floor. They’d come to the wedding together, of course, spending nearly every second of the holidays with each other as it was their first spent as a real, actually dating couple. “This is nice,” Bellamy says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it is,” Murphy agrees, humming contentedly along with the Mariah Carey song that plays through the venue. Clarke and Lexa had fully embraced Christmas as </span>
  <em>
    <span>their </span>
  </em>
  <span>holiday, meaning that even their wedding had to be infused with as much holiday energy as it could be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you want this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glances over at him. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A big wedding, a lavish ceremony, all of </span>
  <em>
    <span>this. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Would you want that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy shrugs, supposing that he never really thought about it. “I don’t really care, one way or another, you know? I don’t think it matters to me. Would </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>want that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy takes a moment to formulate his response. “No,” he finally settles on. “I mean - I’m not opposed to it, but I don’t really care about the whole engagement period, or the wedding, or any of that. It’s more important to just be with the person I love. I would rather use the money spent for a wedding on something else, something important.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His breath hitches, for a moment, the reality of the conversation sinking in. “Bellamy, what are you saying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Murphy, you’ve been talking all year about the bakery you want to open,” he says, fully turning towards him. “And - I think you should do it. I think </span>
  <em>
    <span>we </span>
  </em>
  <span>should do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t mean-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would stay at the museum, for sure, at least until I didn’t have to anymore. I’d rather work with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinks, completely taken aback. “Bellamy - I can’t possibly ask you to do that for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” he says, and then, “Besides, I can’t think of a better life than working side by side with - with my husband, working to achieve his dream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy has to fight to keep his hands from shaking. “Well,” he finally says, “this is a big step up from your last proposal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, please, leave that one in the past,” he replies, laughing. “Look, I’m - I’m not trying to force you to agree to anything, but if you wanted to do that next year with me, then I want to, too. So. It’s up to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Really, Murphy can’t believe all this began the way it did a year ago in the coffee shop, but he knows if he had the choice, he wouldn’t look back for a second. “Okay,” he says, raising his glass to Bellamy’s. “To us, next year, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To us,” Bellamy echoes, their glasses </span>
  <em>
    <span>clinking. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy pauses, glancing back over at the newlyweds across the venue. “Maybe, though, we shouldn’t tell them we just agreed to get married at their literal wedding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, maybe let’s wait on that,” he agrees, still smiling. “For now, though - merry Christmas, Murphy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Merry Christmas, Bellamy,” he says, and for the first time in his life, he’s looking forwards to many, many more. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>big props to aurora blake for having exactly no lines yet being a starring member of this production!</p><p>i think it's obvious if you've read it, but i am /not/ the best fluff writer, so i hope this was somewhat okay. consider it a holiday fluff piece while i take a break from angst until the new year. that said, i hope you enjoyed. i am sending out a big "happy holidays!" to all of you!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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